o be there. On the contrary, I distinctly heard your companion
tell your chauffeur to drive to the Ritz. I came on this train by
accident, and although it is true that I spoke to you as I might have
done to any other travelling companion, I deny that there was anything
in the least impertinent either in what I said or how I said it. So
far as regards your coming into this carriage," I added, "I feed the
guard to keep it to myself, and although I will not say that your
presence is unwelcome, it is certainly unsought for."

She was silent for a moment, watching me all the time intently. My
words seemed to have given her food for thought.

"Listen," she said, leaning forward. "Do you mean to say that that was
your first visit to the Cafe des Deux Epingles?"

"Absolutely my first visit," I answered. "I met Louis by accident that
night. He knew that I was bored, and he took me there."

"You met him at the Opera and you asked him who we were," she
remarked.

"That is quite true," I admitted, "but I scarcely see that there was
anything impertinent in that. Afterwards we spoke together for a
little time. I told him that I was alone in Paris and bored. It was
because I was alone that we went out together."

Her forehead was wrinkled with perplexity. Her eyes seemed always to
be seeking mine, as though anxious to learn whether I were indeed
speaking the truth.

"I do not understand at all," she said. "You mean to tell me, then,
that you know nothing of Louis except as a _maitre d'hotel_, that
you were a chance visitor to Paris this week?"

"Absolutely," I answered.

Suddenly a thought seemed to occur to her. She drew away from me. In
her eyes I seemed to see reflected the tragedy of those few moments in
the Cafe des Deux Epingles.

"How can I believe you?" she exclaimed. "Remember that I saw you
strike that man! It was horrible! I have never seen anything like it!
You were like a wild animal! They tell me that he was very badly
hurt. Is it true?"

"I believe so," I answered. "I am afraid that I hope so."

"And you," she continued, "go free! You have not even the air of one
who flies for his life. Yet you tell me that you are not one of
those--those--"

"Those what?" I asked eagerly.

"Those who frequent the Cafe des Deux Epingles," she said
slowly,--"those who take advantage of the peculiar protection which
some of those behind the scenes there are able to extend to their
friends."

I shook my head.

"I kno